The Forest Ranger's Christmas. Leigh Bale

Two

      “Sure we can talk, Ranger. Come on inside where it’s warm,” Frank said.

      Clint glanced at Josie. “I’d like to speak with your grandfather alone for a few minutes, if you don’t mind. It’ll only take a minute.”

      She shook her head. “Sorry, but I’d like to be included.”

      He hesitated, frowning with displeasure, but Josie didn’t give him the chance to argue. Frank lumbered toward the house and she followed, chugging through the snow like a bulldozer. Feeling as if the bottom of her world had just crashed through the floor. Dazzling smile or not, she wasn’t about to leave Clint Hamilton alone with her grandfather. Not when he could change his mind and have Gramps arrested.

      Gramps circled around to the side entrance into the kitchen. He opened the door, then stood back to admit Clint and Josie first. She wasn’t surprised. Her grandfather was the kindest, most decent man she knew. Always putting others first. Generous to a fault. It wasn’t odd that he cut and gave trees away to the local widows. And it didn’t sit well with Josie to have him accused of theft. At least the ranger was being reasonable about the situation.

      For now.

      As she stepped inside, the warmth of the kitchen enveloped her. Then a sour odor like stale, damp socks struck her in the face.

      Josie’s gaze swept the normally tidy room in astonishment. Dishes crusted with food sat piled high on the stove and in the sink. A brick of cheddar cheese sat drying on the countertop, greening with mold. Several cupboard doors hung open. Moving past Clint, she reached up and closed them. Something crackled beneath her feet and she crinkled her nose.

      Her mind churned, trying to make sense of the mess. Grandma had always kept a spotless house. Since her recent passing, Josie had come to visit Gramps twice. She’d cleaned his house each time, but it had never looked this bad. And she figured this was one more reason he needed her help.

      Gramps indicated the chairs at the scarred, wooden table. “Take off your coat and have a seat, Ranger. You can talk freely in front of Josie. What did you want to say?”

      Clint stood right where he was, his brow creased. He obviously didn’t want Josie here, but she wasn’t budging. As if realizing that, he indicated the rumpled pamphlet Gramps still clutched in his gnarled fist. “Frank, I don’t mean to embarrass you in any way, but can you read that brochure to me?”

      Frank’s eyes widened. “Of course I can read it.”

      Yes, of course he could. At Gramps’s age, his eyesight wasn’t the best, but Josie knew he could read. And she couldn’t prevent an annoyed frown from creasing her forehead as she looked at Clint Hamilton. Nor could she soften the demanding tone of her voice. “What exactly are you implying, Ranger?”

      Clint shifted his booted feet, his persistent gaze centered on Gramps. “Truly, I don’t mean to be rude, Frank, but would you get your glasses and read it to me now? Please?”

      “Ranger, stop this,” Josie demanded, openly hostile now.

      Clint’s gaze rotated to her, his dark eyes piercing her to the back of her spine. She expected him to make a biting remark, but he merely looked at her with a glaze of forced disinterest. As though he was trying not to like her.

      “Please, call me Clint.”

      Not if she could help it. Not as long as he posed a threat to her grandfather.

      “What is it you want, exactly?” she asked, bristling.

      Clint’s mouth tightened, but he had the decency to drop his gaze. “I don’t want anything, but I’d rather have this discussion with Frank alone.”

      “I already said I’m not leaving,” she insisted.

      He dragged a hand through his short hair. “I’m sorry for that, but I need to know if your grandfather can read.”

      “Of course he can read. Why would you think he can’t?” She leaned her hip against the counter and folded her arms, feeling irritable. She’d been worried about Gramps for several months now, and this volatile situation frosted the cake. With Grandma gone, Josie felt an urgency building inside her. To take care of Gramps. To keep others from hurting or taking advantage of him. To be with her family, little that she still had. And a nosy forest ranger would not get in her way of that task.

      “Please, just humor me,” Clint said.

      She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were his friend.”

      “Believe me, I am.” Clint met her gaze again, the intensity of his eyes unwavering.

      That was just the problem. She didn’t believe him. Not when he dredged up things that didn’t matter, let alone make any sense. Her past relationships had taught her not to trust easily. Especially men. In her life, Gramps had been the only man not to let her down.

      And yet Josie couldn’t deny a feeling of unease. She knew Gramps so well. The crinkle lines that framed his mouth whenever he smiled. The way his bushy eyebrows curved together when he was upset about something. The deep, rich timbre of his laugh. But now her mind sorted through the numerous times during her childhood when she’d asked him to read to her. Bedtime stories. Magazine articles. New books Grandma had bought for her. Gramps had always deferred, telling her a story from his memory or tickling her instead. Silly distractions she’d never suspected before. But that didn’t mean Gramps couldn’t read.

      Or did it?

      No, Josie had never heard anything so outrageous in her life. She refused to believe it. It couldn’t be true. And yet an inkling of doubt nibbled at her mind. It’d be so difficult to hide a handicap like illiteracy. Gramps couldn’t have made it through his long life without knowing how to read and write.

      Or could he? What if the forest ranger was right and Gramps couldn’t read?

      * * *

      Clint stepped back, giving Josie some space. She was visibly upset, with her blue eyes narrowed, her hands clenched. He would rather have this conversation without her present, but she’d made that impossible.

      He considered leaving right now, without another word. He hated causing these people any more distress, especially after he’d accused Frank Rushton of tree theft. But he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not in good conscience. Not until he knew the truth and did something to help Frank.

      “Go ahead, Gramps. Read.” Josie turned to face her grandfather.

      Clint waited. When he’d seen Josie at her grandmother’s funeral, he’d noticed the way her stunning eyes glimmered with tears, and the grief etching her delicate face. He understood grief and couldn’t help feeling her loss.

      But he’d heard that she was a career woman, one who couldn’t seem to settle down with a man. From the tidbits of information Frank and Viola had told him, Josie’s parents had divorced when she was thirteen. She’d been engaged twice, but it hadn’t worked out. She’d quit on both guys just like Karen had quit on him. Apparently Josie had an aversion to marriage, which suited him fine. He had a child to protect, and he wasn’t about to become Josie’s third conquest.

      She loved her grandparents, he had no doubt. And he couldn’t blame her for feeling protective of Frank. No one lived in this small town and didn’t hear what a kind, charitable man Frank Rushton was. But right now, Clint had a hunch. His own past experience with Karen told him he was right. Frank couldn’t read. Not because he couldn’t see well enough without his spectacles, but because he didn’t know how to put the letters together to form the words.

      “Please, Frank. Get your glasses and read for me,” Clint insisted.

      Frank’s shoulders tensed, but Clint couldn’t back down. As a ranger, he had an obligation to protect the national forest. It was his job. His first priority after Gracie. If Frank was going up on the mountain to cut trees, he needed to be able to read the posted signs. Clint also wanted to help Frank,